Dare to Surrender (21 page)

Joy took a deep breath. “There’s something else I think I neglected to mention.” She sucked the straw of her margarita until
there was a gurgling sound. “You know the show I have coming up featuring Ash?”

Three heads nodded.

“Well… you’re all going to find this really funny.” She plucked Scott’s vodka tonic out of his hand and drank that, too. “You
know how it’s a show of erotic photographs and some sculpture?”

“What are you trying to say, Joy?” Scott asked, taking back his now-empty drink with a scowl.

“I’m kind of the model in some of the photographs.”

Dead silence.

Then Kate finally said, “Oh my God. Are you serious?”

She saw a muscle twitch under Erica’s eye. “Are you nude?”

Joy felt her entire face begin to burn. There was nothing more attractive than a redhead blushing—
not!

She nodded. “Yes, in some.”

“But… but… ,” Kate stuttered.

Straightening, Joy clenched her fists. “What? You don’t think I’m pretty enough to be featured?”

“No!” Kate said. “That’s not it at all.”

“Then what is it?” Joy demanded, her voice high.

Scott placed a soft hand on her shoulder. “It’s just that you’ve never been comfortable even being in a bathing suit at the
beach, and now you’re posing nude for an exhibit to be seen by hundreds—maybe thousands—of people? Your potential clients?”

Joy felt the blood drain from her face. She hadn’t really thought about it quite like that. “I’ve seen the photographs. They’re
not crude.”

Scott squeezed her shoulder. “I’m sure they’re not, sweetie. We’re just surprised, right, gang?”

Kate nodded.

Erica looked like she was going to rip someone’s head off. “Let me get this straight. You’re going to be selling naked pictures
of
yourself
?”

“I’m not naked in all of them,” Joy murmured, sinking down in the booth. In fact, Ash used light and shadow to hide most of
her private parts. That was one of the things she found so beautiful about his work. When you looked close, the beauty of
his pieces was really in the forms, the shades of gray in the images. “And furthermore, I’m not the only model.”

“How did he talk you into this?” Erica demanded.

“He… he…” She wasn’t even sure she knew. “He just did!”

“For heaven’s sake, Joy,” Erica said.

But Kate looked thoughtful. “I think it’s great.”

“What?” Joy said, snapping her attention to her friend. Tonight Kate was wearing tight leggings and a fuchsia top that dipped
way beyond the curves of her breasts.

“Yeah,” Kate said, waving her hand. Joy couldn’t help but notice her nails were the exact same color of pink as her shirt.
“Let’s face it, Joy. You’ve never realized how pretty you are. Since you’ve been with Ash, you seem more confident. You’re
comfortable enough to let him take sexy photos of you.” She gave Joy a once-over. “And you even went shopping and bought some
clothes that aren’t two sizes too big. Yup. I think it’s a good thing.”

Joy looked over to find Erica staring silently at her. Finally she asked, “So. You really like him?”

Slowly, Joy nodded.

“And he likes you.”

“I think he does.”

“Well,” Erica said after a sip of her drink. “He better be good to you, or like I said, he’ll have me to answer to.”

Everyone at the table made fake
oooohh, scary,
sounds. But Joy’s sound wasn’t quite as fake as the others.

“Here comes the rain again… ,” Andrew hummed absently as he surfed the Internet in the quiet gallery.

Through the large gallery windows, Joy watched people running along the sidewalk, hovering under umbrellas or crouching under
wet newspapers if they’d gone out unprepared.

Apathetically, Joy glanced around the gallery, looking for a newspaper.

She heard the sound of her cell phone, its ringtone of the muffled chorus to “Hips Don’t Lie” coming from deep inside her
purse. “Damn,” she muttered when she glanced at the caller ID, but she answered it anyway. “Hi, Grandma.”

“Hello, dear. Are you busy?”

Joy started doodling on her scrap paper. “Well, I’m at work, Grandmother, as I usually am on Tuesdays.”

“Right,” she said, as if Joy was just pretending to have a job. “Well, do you think you could come over and do me a favor?”

Nooooo,
Joy doodled and surrounded the word with a rainbow. “Sure, what do you need?” she asked, wishing she’d let the call go to
voice mail.

“Well, with all this rain, I’m afraid my patio roses and hanging planters are going to blow away. I need help bringing everything
in.”

“I’d love to, but I need to have my tires rotated before I drive in this weather. I’m way overdue.” Sometimes being irresponsible
came in hardy.

“Oh, it’s just a sprinkle outside. Besides, that was my car for ten years before I gave it to you, and I never had one problem.”

Oh, sure. Remind me that you gave me the car—lay on the guilt, why don’t you?

Still, Joy wasn’t lying about the tires; she’d already skidded coming down Geary earlier that day. “Can’t you call David?”
You know, the brother who lives five instead of forty-five minutes away?

“He’s busy doing an important surgery.”

Of course he is, and her other brothers would have similar excuses. “Fine. I’ll leave work at four and drive straight there.”

“You can’t come any earlier?”

“I need to close the gallery, Grandmother.”

“Fine,” she said with a sigh. “I’ll see you later, then. Oh, and I’ll make you a lovely dinner for coming. Something low-calorie;
I know you’re on a diet.”

“Gee, thanks, Grandmother.”

“You’re welcome, dear. See you tonight.”

That afternoon, UPS delivered a box from Little Rock, Arkansas, addressed to Joy Montgomery. Her heart thundered in her ears
as she realized it was finally here. The sculpture had finally arrived.

Locking herself in the bathroom, her heart leaped as she sat on the toilet and placed the box on her lap. She carefully cut
through the tape using a box cutter. At last! Tomorrow she could go to the museum and put it back in that dingy cabinet. Museum
personnel were expecting her to come to take pictures of Ash’s work for the upcoming exhibit, and while she was there, she
would simply return the stolen piece.

“Yes!” The clients had used newspaper to wrap the small sculpture, and now Joy dug through the pages of the
Little Rock Review
until she saw some white marble, the top of the female figure’s head. Gently, she lifted the piece out of the box.

And her heart stopped.

It was just as beautiful as she remembered. She ran her fingertips over the smooth form. It was erotic as ever, and a wonderful
thrill went through her.

“You okay in there?” Andrew said through the door.

Deep breaths.
She said in a high-pitched voice, “Yeah, just um, having some girl issues.”

“Say no more,” Andrew said quickly, and she heard his boots clicking as he walked away.

Okay. Now she had the sculpture. She could return it, and Ash would be none the wiser. A niggle of guilt reminded her that
she was still being slightly dishonest, but it was better than causing unnecessary stress between them, right? Especially
when no harm would come of it.

You’re so open, Joy. So truthful.
He’d said those things and she hadn’t denied it. She’d let him believe it.

Shut up.

She looked back at the beautiful sculpture in her hand. Such beauty, so much sexuality. The first time she’d seen it, she
hadn’t really known what it would be like to feel the energy of being bound. Now that she had experienced such a thing, the
piece became even more meaningful, more arousing.

Still, it was stolen. She’d stolen from Ash.

Impulsive, reckless, thoughtless…

All those things her grandmother had been saying for all these years…

She’d been right.

The rain had started again, and Erica responded by making a big pot of soup. She remembered when she was just a girl and her
mother would make this exact recipe: sauté the leeks in butter, then add potatoes and broth. The trick was the spot of cream
at the end. Not too much, just a bit to add a hint of richness. Perfect on a night like this. After all the crazy feelings
she’d been experiencing lately, nothing sounded better than her mom’s soup and some fresh, crunchy bread.

She pushed away the shot of sadness that darted through her when she thought of her mother. The woman had worked three jobs
to keep her and her two siblings fed and clothed. They’d lived in a tiny house on the way, way wrong side of the tracks. Due
to some ridiculous zoning map, she’d been forced to attend a school whose main population thought a Mercedes was an appropriate
sixteenth-birthday present.

Erica’s mom had died when she was seventeen. Her brother and sister had been sent into foster families, but Erica was too
close to eighteen for the system to fight her on it, so she’d gone to work waiting tables at a local Denny’s. And she’d been
a waitress ever since.

But not for much longer.

Mom would be proud.

But what would she think of Erica dating a preppy like Blaine? After being treated as second-class citizens, Erica’s family
held a certain disdain for the upper class. And yet she couldn’t get the egotistical chef-to-be out of her head. Even now,
the memory of his touch made Erica’s bones thrum with unexpected lust. She so did not want to be attracted to the saucy, smug,
chef-to-be.

But she was.

How had that happened? She had a long history of not getting along with the wealthy. As the only poor kid in an upper-class
school, she knew all about the way lower-class people were treated. And if being shoved into lockers, having her clothes hidden
during gym, and being the last one picked during any sports activity wasn’t enough to convince her, well, five years of serving
stuck-up students surely did: People with money were a different species, one she really didn’t want anything to do with.

W
hen Ash returned home later that night, cold and wet and tired, he went straight for the liquor cabinet. His hands shook as
he poured a healthy dose of scotch into a glass and gulped half of it down. He felt like the walls were closing in on him,
like he couldn’t breathe.

It was more than obvious his sister needed a nurse. His mother still refused to admit it, but after seeing her today, Ash
knew, without a doubt, that he had no choice. Her overalls had been hanging off her too-skinny frame, and her hair looked
as if it hadn’t been cut in months. This from a woman who used to dress impeccably each day for the love of her live, the
administration of her landscaping business.

Now she was running herself ragged, looking older every day. Ash had to step in and do something.

His mother could no longer be the sole caregiver for his sister. Ash was going to have to hire full-time care for Violet.
But his mom was proud, always needing to prove she could do everything herself. This was going to take some doing.

Guilt was burning a hole in his gut, and he tried to drown it with the rest of the scotch.

“Take care of your mom and your sister
,” his dad had said when the cancer was really bad. At thirteen, Ash already knew what that meant: He had to take his father’s
place. And what had he done? Run away at the first chance.

And fuck if he wasn’t itching to do it again. He refilled his glass, went to his computer, and booted up.

When Juan had said there wouldn’t be any fieldwork, Ash really hadn’t believed him. There was always fieldwork, and it was
only a matter of time before the e-mail landed in his in-box. That time had come earlier that morning.

Opening up his e-mail program, he stared at the message, rereading it for the umpteenth time. The familiar buzz of excitement
started quietly but was beginning to build, thrumming through him, and he tattooed a steady beat with the toe of his boot,
the sound a rhythmic clicking on the hardwood.

Ash was tempted. So goddamn tempted.

The team wanted him there, in Iraq. The pussy tech guy they’d hired to switch servers had turned out to be unable to tolerate
the communal living conditions and extreme heat. His job as a computer technician was easy—all he needed to do was make sure
the servers over in Iraq worked properly. But even the easy job and generous paycheck didn’t keep him there. He’d hightailed
it back to the States after only a few weeks. Now the guys were stuck with no on-site tech support, which was an element crucial
to their operations.

Problem was, if Ash left for the field, he knew he wouldn’t be coming back anytime soon, because that antsy feeling was back,
stronger than ever, and he wanted to run.

No, you don’t run,
he told himself.

You escape.

“Shit,” he muttered. He couldn’t help it, couldn’t help the thoughts spinning through his head, no matter how wrong they were.
In a way, hiring full-time care would release him, and he couldn’t deny there was a part of him that craved that freedom.

Really, the only thing stopping him at this point was Joy. Joy and her show. He couldn’t do anything for two more weeks, at
least not until the show was over.

Joy. He didn’t know what to think about his feelings for her. At the thought of the beautiful woman, of her messy red hair,
luscious breasts, and engaging smile, he felt something funny in his gut. And he felt something familiar in his balls, a throbbing
lust.

If he left, he’d be leaving her. That had never mattered before; women had never factored into his decisions regarding what
he did or where he went. Family and then his job, that was all that mattered. And, for a while, his art.

He looked around his loft. The space was filled with photographs of Joy. He’d been matting them all himself, getting the images
ready for the upcoming show. With a start, he realized he’d been so obsessed with the photography, he hadn’t actually spoken
with his muse in a couple of days. He ran a hand through his hair. This was part of the reason he’d ceased taking pictures.
He became so engrossed, so obsessed with getting his vision just perfect, he sometimes dropped out of the world altogether.
And he couldn’t afford to do that, not with the responsibilities he’d committed himself to.